Recycled teenager

Hi.  

My name is Ellie.    
    
I'm 45, but I don't look it.    
According to my kids,    
I don't act like it either.    
In fact, the family recently      
conducted a straw poll    
to establish who among us    
is the most immature.    
I beat my 14- and 16-year old daughters    
sparkly-nailed hands down,    
and I'm proud of it too.    
     
As a musician,      
I reckon one is never too old    
to learn an instrument...    
or a language    
or a list of pointless facts    
or a cool gymnastics move    
or bit of contortionism.    
I've done them all.    
Damaged elbow notwithstanding    
(from four fractures      
sustained while running on ice),    
I will swing from things,    
fling myself around any available bars,    
flip off them backwards    
and attempt fancy dives at the local pool.    
Once, as a married woman    
in my mid-twenties,    
I swung in a baby swing    
just because I happened to fit.    
(Unfortunately I then got stuck    
and it took three people      
to haul me out.    
It all added to the hilarity.)    
     
I generally keep my spoken language clean  
but I laugh at swear words    
when other people use them.    
Not because I have a dirty mind,    
but because some of them sound so funny  
and like a pre-teen,    
I still think it's a little bit daring  
and a little bit naughty.    
Tee hee hee!    
     
I also get the giggles      
in bed at night,    
when I picture an entire nation    
climbing into bed  
and pulling duvets over themselves.    
I find the image hilarious.    
For months, I'd start laughing    
if anyone even mentioned duvets.    
I used to randomly start laughing during tests  
and giggled throughout my driving theory exam—  
the pens they provided all went,    
"POP! POP! POP! POP!"    
when we removed the lids    
and some of the multiple choice questions  
had ludicrously outlandish answer options!  
What should you do
if you are dazzled by oncoming headlights?  
Close your eyes, anyone? Swerve?    
     
I make sure      
that my family eats a healthy, balanced diet  
but I still snack like a child.    
I have a secret chocolate stash    
that my family has never found.    
I'm an ice-lolly fiend    
but sometimes just have a nice cup of ice cubes to crunch.  
Occasionally, I sort my Smarties,    
Skittles or Jelly Tots    
into colour order,      
and make a little pictogram with them.    
I save my favourites until last    
(everyone knows that green sweets are the best,  
apart from the orange Smarties).    
Sometimes I eat them    
whilst reading a book    
and allow myself      
two sweets per page.    
     
I enjoy a game of Mario Kart    
but always get beaten by the kids.    
I'm far too competitive    
when it comes to board games,    
to the point where    
nobody wants to play Scrabble with me anymore.  
I'm brave about major injuries    
and medical procedures      
but I whine about my hay fever    
and blisters and paper cuts.    
     
I refuse to trim my hair    
just because my kids think that I should,    
so now it's down to my hips,    
and knotty at that.    
I dye the ends multicoloured    
but only during the school holidays    
because I think I'm    
"going to get told off"    
if I wear it like that to work.    
Ooh, how scary!!    
     
Most people see me as      
a teacher and a middle-aged parent    
who is always ready to help out,      
volunteer in her community    
and raise funds for charity.    
But now you know the whole truth:    
that I'm a straggly-haired, ice-crunching,    
bar-swinging recycled teenager  
who laughs at the inane    
and probably needs to mature a bit.    
     
For those fortunate enough to survive thus far,  
growing old is mandatory    
but growing up is optional.    
I've made my choice...  
I don't think I'll ever change!